The Truth of Heroes
by RougerTXR388
Summary: Sometimes not everything would be as it seems, but it is often more difficult to accept the truth than to find it. Introduction to the Truth and Reconciliation Series


**Disclaimer: RWBY and all of it's official derivatives are intellectual property of Monty Oum and Roosterteeth.  
I claim no part in it's ownership, and will as of the foreseeable future, attempt to remain true to the events and people that have appeared in the official canon releases** **of RWBY at the time of writing this**.

**That all said and done now, this story is going to be an AU to what the official RWBY is going to be, and will take place across several titles that I will be putting out all collectively being connected under the label Truth and Reconciliation. So I'll leave you all now to read and hopefully enjoy until the end. Have fun.**

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The Land of Remnant can be a dark and terrifying place, and we are not nearly so safe as we've been told. This is the dark truth that I now know, one that _they've_ tried so desperately to hide from us to keep us happy and safe from despair. I think they hide it to give us a small amount of hope in these dark times, for, though we have few tales of hope, we cling tightly to those we do possess.

The fairy tales we tell our children to keep them from being afraid of the Dark never have as much truth in them as we could ever wish for. The heroes all end up saving the day, and everything ends with a happily ever after. In truth, our heroes are the ones who are never going to come home. They are the ones who jumped in front of a monsters fangs to push someone out of the way, or the ones who stayed to the bitter end to defend their friends instead of leaving them behind, or those who stood alone against the hordes of Darkness so everyone else could get away to safety. Our heroes are the ones who we've lost as they hold back the monsters in the dark. We hold tightly to them even though they are gone, for they are the only reason we are here and the only reason we go on.

Though we now have the greatest peace we have ever known, it is not nearly as strong as some of us are led to believe. Even in this time,our peace is still dearly paid for with the blood, tears, and lives of our heroes.

I will tell you a legend I learned when I was much younger, one that I will tell my children so that, when the dark times come again, they will always see a small glimmer of light. For as long as there are a brave few, who are willing to lay down their lives for the sake of others, the hope that all of their sacrifices were not in vain nor just a few extra moments will live on.

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This legend starts a very long time ago, longer than most would care to remember. It was a small peaceful village on the outskirts of a kingdom in the Great Vale. It was a happy and relatively safe place to live in this kingdom, and though small, it had many visitors and was very prosperous. But like most good things in our world, it was not to last. In the dead of the night, the monsters came from the darkness like a black wave rolling over the village. The defenders were strong and though they were surprised they could have held off the monsters, had not the beasts been led by a fearful witch wielding dark fire, and soon the village's defenses were overrun. When all hope had seemed lost, a young woman stepped forth with the rising sun. A beautiful young warrior with long golden hair, she was a Huntress, a slayer of monsters. With the spreading sunlight she drove the creatures back into the dark, and the witch with them. But this was done at great cost and she was struck low by the retreating witch's flames. Before the spark of her life flickered out, she was at least able to say goodbye to her two young children. They would remember what she had done there that day for as long as they lived, and their nightmares would forever be plagued with blood in the snow, red as a summer's rose.

In time, these young ones would become strong warriors in their own right, and to honor their mother they decided to take up the mantle of protecting the innocent and becoming monster hunters themselves. But to do so they had to undergo a rite of passage at a sacred place, an ancient citadel known as the Beacon, so named for the Light that came forth from its gates to ward off the Darkness. It was there at this Beacon that they would learn the skills they needed to protect others from that which prowled in the night. When they arrived though they found that they were not alone in their venture, and that many came from all corners of Remnant to take on the mantle of Huntsman and Huntress, just as they had. It was here among these like-minded individuals that they found many new friends, brothers and sisters in arms and ideals. In strengthening these bonds of friendship, they honed their skills, and worked together to accomplish many great deeds, protecting the people of Remnant, and each other.

Among their new friends, was a young man who came from a long line of heroes, and he had come to uphold his family's legacy. He had brought with him his father's sword and an ancient ancestral shield, said to be unbreakable. Though at first he did not appear much, with the help of his friends, he became a strong Huntsman and an even better leader, far more than capable of living up to his family name. He could be found at the forefront of a charge that would drive the monster back from whence they had come, or upon the battlements letting forth a rallying cry heard across the battlefield drawing out the last bits of strength and courage that the failing men knew not they had left, or devising strategies that would leave lesser men dazzled and the enemies fearfully dreading what would come next. In spite of these great feats, he never forgot why he donned the mantle of Huntsman. It was to protect others, and that was where he felt his greatest strength did lie. Whether it be a monster's claws or a criminal's blade, he seemed to always be there to stop it. His armor and shield were more often than not used to block a blow meant for another. If a line needed to be held he seemed to be at every flank, holding back the tide. Even for all his greatness he remained humble, and in private moments he confided in his friends of his doubts for himself. For not every battle could be won, not every life could be saved, and these setbacks and lives lost weighed heavily on his conscious. In the years to come, though, it felt as though these new young Huntsmen and Huntress, led by this young man, could sever the black leash of fear that held us so tightly.

Or so it had first seemed. Like shadows on a moonless night, the black beasts struck the Beacon. The young Huntsmen and Huntresses, caught off guard and unnerved that the creatures would assault the fortress, faltered at first against the onslaught. The rallying cry of their leader, however, brought forth a shift in the battle, and soon they were pushing the monsters back. Victory was not so assured though, for the witch from those many years ago had returned having set her baleful eyes on this citadel. As the battle raged, and with the defenders unaware of her, she slipped into the building and made her way to its heart, a ghost in the shadows. Alone in her destination she set upon her vile work, a dark ritual that would kindle forth a blaze of nightmarish proportion that could unfound the stones of the Beacon. At the first rumbling of the witch's ministrations the young leader's intuition sent him fleet footedly to the buildings heart, leaving his closest friend to win the struggle on the field. Arriving just as the witch was nearing the end of her incantations the young Huntsman struck out instinctively, ceasing the witch in her work. Infuriated at being foiled in her plots, she drew forth from her flames a cruel blade and with an unholy curse, she engaged the young man in a battle of steel and fire.

Though the young leader was a master at arms, his opponent controlled flames that seared all in their path, and she wielded a blade sharp enough to cleave stone. At first holding his own, he was forced to give ground against the witch's rage for just a single misstep is all she would need. Even with all of his skill and caution, soon the witch had her advantage. With his back suddenly to a wall he stumbled for a moment, dropping his guard, and the witch lashed out with her blade into this brief opening aiming for his heart. With a ring of steel her blade stopped suddenly against another's. The battle outside had been won, the monsters routed, and the young leader's friend had appeared to his aid in the last possible moments. With his footing regained and his companion alongside him, the young man and his friend began the ending of this battle in earnest.

Together they pushed the witch out of the heart of the Beacon and on to the great balcony overlooking the cliffs the Beacon sat atop. Here on this expanse, with the rising sun on the horizon, the three dueled to decide the fate of the battle. With her back to the rails, the witch acted in desperation t, unleashing a great ball of flame on the ground at her feet. The sudden conflagration blinded the two young warriors, and the advantage shifted for the final time. Her opponents dazed, the witch's blade leapt out at the closer of the two. For once the young Huntsman was too slow to protect his friend, and the witch's sword opened a deep gash into his friend's back. Looking on in horror as his friend fell limply against the balcony floor, the leader of the Huntsmen found himself once again facing the witch alone. Unable to keep up his guard, he soon found himself with his back against the railing as only a moment before his opponent had been. Ducking at the last moment he dodged the blast of flame that tore off rail behind him, and was left open to the witch's blade.

Just as that fearsome point was about to find its mark, the man felt himself forced out of its way, seeing only at the last instant, that fell blade mortally pierce the one who was closest to him. With the last of his strength and the brief opening afforded him by that last act of heroism, he smote a mighty blow upon the witch's breast. Though he struck down his foe, he could only watch helplessly as his dearest friend tumbled off the precipice, into the great forest at the base of the cliffs.

And so the battle was won. But the return of the light of day did not bring forth cries of victory or joy. Only a great keen of grief.

That day the corpses of the horrid creatures were removed, the wounded were tended to, and statues were erected over where the fallen lay. The body of the witch was never found, and neither was one other.

That night a great pyre was set in the courtyard, and in its glow a soft dirge was sung. And on the balcony, under a solitary statue, was one small, final, pyre. The only sounds were quiet tears, consumed by the crackling of the flames. The following morning, wanting for direction, the young Huntsmen and Huntresses sought out their leader. He was not to be found, all that was left of him there was his shield at the feet of the statue on the balcony. Picking it up, they found a message carved into its back.

"My friend, I made you a promise and I could not keep it. For that I will be eternally sorry. Maybe if you'd held this instead of me, this statue wouldn't be all that I have left of you. Please hold it for me now, as I go to make things right. Though I do not deserve to, my final hope is that I get to see you again soon. Goodbye my friend."

Knowing these words were not meant for them, they returned the shield to its resting place at the base of the statue where it would remain, undisturbed for many years.

Though saddened and diminished by this final loss the young Huntsmen and Huntresses of the Beacon had to put aside their grief, for they knew they now needed to work together to accomplish a task that would require all their strength. Bereft of their sword they set forth from the Beacon to become a shield for the people of Remnant. Resolute in their task, no tears fell as new Light left the gates of the their home.

The horde of monster that had been repulsed from the Beacon was still a threat however, so the young Huntsmen and Huntresses took up it's trail to strike down this danger. Into the Deep Forests they pursued the creatures, tracking them, hunting them, and for twelve days they found nothing but the spoor of the prey they followed. The thirteenth night left them uneasy though they could not say why, and so they set up camp early and waited, preparing for the fight they felt fast approaching. Into the long night they waited, and into the the early light of the morn, until the sun had finally arising in the sky. With no sign of the threat they had felt the night before, they wearily packed their camped and continued along the trail they followed. Into midday they progressed and as they neared the edge of the forest they heard a sound they had been dreading and hoping to hear. It was the snarls and howls of the beasts they sought, less than half a league away. Now so near to their quarry their pace quickened as they readied themselves, exhaustion leaving them, and the light of the pyres from a fortnight ago rekindling in their eyes. As they rushed towards their goal, the Huntsmen and Huntresses crossed the border of the forest, and were wholly unprepared for the sight that would be laid bare before them.

Across the divide they found themselves upon seemingly boundless plains, the formless black mass of their objective disappearing beyond the horizon. The beastial vocalizations they had heard belonged only to a handful of the creatures straggling behind, quickly fleeing from a small village less than a bowshot from the group of Hunters. A village with no sounds nor smoke from the chimneys nor inhabitants. Only the smell of blood on the wind. Slowly the Hunters made their way to the collection of buildings, not knowing why their hearts were so heavy in their breasts.

The first structures they passed were lumber mills, the buildings closest to the forest. All empty and quiet, not a soul to be found. Venturing further into the village past the last few abandoned buildings only burdened their hearts more greatly, from the stillness in the air and the numbing silence that weighed heavily upon them. The further they moved into the village the more this silence seemed to press against them, the more apparent it became. The songbirds did not sing in the sky nor carrion crows caw. The drone and buzz of insects and the lowing of livestock could not be heard, nor even did the wind blow anymore. It was as if the breath of life of this place had left the world.

At first it seemed even the people were gone, though the Hunters knew they could not be alone here. As they searched the nearby streets and buildings they found signs of the people that had of lived here. Fires still dying in the mantles, clothes hung up to dry, tools left out. As they searched more and more other signs began to appear. Signs of struggle, dropped weapons, damage to buildings, and blood on the walls, still fresh. A battle had been fought, but they should have heard people. Peoples cries of anger or fear, words of comfort, tools being used to rebuild, orders being given. There was only the silence. Still the Hunters continued searching until they came to the main road leading to the village square.

The sight they beheld stilled their hearts and stole their breath. And the tears that they had refused to shed so many days before began to fall. Those tears blurred their sight, warping the faces of strangers into those of friends and loved ones, even as the drops were swallowed into the endless black sea of blood beneath them. No one had survived. Their eyes, no longer blinded by hope, bore witness to the devastation unveiled to them now. Men and women torn apart in the streets, children slaughtered at play, and babes butchered in their cradles. Four hundred people had lived in that village, and in the weak pale light before dawn four hundred lives had ceased. The Light from the Beacon had reached this village too late to hold back the Darkness, and in the face of such wanton death even the brightest Light would falter.

And so it would be that the Hunters would fall to their knees one by one in defeat had not two of their number stepped forward. Twin daughters, one of fiery gold and the other of midnight scarlet, both honoring their mother from many years ago. As these two moved from one friend to the next, their voices did not ring out but quietly whispered words of kindness, and even hope though they did not feel it themselves. With this hope, hollow as it was, the Hunters of the Beacon rose once more to finish what they had started, intent upon their task more so now than ever. As they turned to the horizon and their quarry, they heard the faintest of sounds from behind. The twin Huntresses, still at the forefront of the group and looking back, were the first to catch a glimpse of the source. A small girl limping forth from the carnage.

Pushing through her comrades the golden twin made her way to the lone survivor. The child staggered forward, her right arm clutched to her chest, the left hanging limply by her side, and her white hair hiding her features. Her once white nightshift, now torn and bloodstained tatters not even providing modesty, displayed the still bleeding wounds all over her small frame. The young huntress could only stare in wonder, hope rekindling in her breast at the sight of a survivor, until the child started to fall. Even as the small girl knees met the ground, the blonde huntress had reached her side, gently holding the child and lowering the girl onto her lap. The girl's ice blue eyes stared up blankly at the huntress through the blood still flowing from the gash over the child's eye.

"Please… help…."

It was a quiet pitiful plea as the girl breathed her last and slipped away, and with that plea this dying child taught the Hunters the final lesson they were to learn of their path. A final lesson of their purpose and understanding who they were to become. Though a blade cutting through the Darkness, they were no sword. Though they warded the weak from the Darkness, they were no shield. The duty of the Hunters was not to fight, not to protect, but shoulder the burden of despair so that others might not have to. To be the Light in the Beacon of Hope even as they themselves would be blinded in the dark.

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**A/N: So I hope everyone is enjoying this story so far. There will be one more chapter under this title to finish up so don't worry, for those of you who really enjoyed the high epic style I wrote this in, but after that second chapter I am not going to continue in that style as it is an absolute bitch to write in(Sorry guys). As I said this is going to be a part of a larger work that I am titling Truth and Reconciliation (Yes I realize that is from Halo but you'll eventually see why). This is just and introduction to this story to set the mood and moderately explain the setting. I do have a lot of content planned for this story which at the time of writing will include six individual arcs and possibly some oneshots. Just as a note, the title of the entire story will be the main themes across all planned arcs.**

**Those of you who enjoyed my previous work, I would like to thank you for your support and I hope to live up to your expectations. Incase any of you were wondering, Desperation will not be related to this story at all.**

**I would also like to make several thank yous and some shoutouts to fellow authors.  
If any of you readers have not read the works of any of the authors ****Pozsich, A-Rav, LazyKatze, elfenlied1012, or Kerrigor2** I recommend that you do as they are all excellent fanfiction writers and their stories are all lovely. I would like to thank all of them immensely for the help they provided while I was writing this. An especially large thanks goes to Pozsich for doing some powerful editing. So Poz, Arva, Cat, Elfie, and Kerri, thanks to all of you, this series is dedicated to you guys.  


**Finally, Fav and Follow as you see fit, but if you really did enjoy, please leave a comment or a review. Hearing back from the readers really just makes my week and I motivates me to write so much.**

Thank you for reading. Rouger.


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